Aiyyo I roll like a bat out of hellEvil acapell's fly spittin out of my grillBefore I hit the sky with springtime colorsJuicy as a Sunkist, certain broads double dutch thisThey carve it in they wrist, pales berry blazesStraighten the crumbs left on the stove, clothes in my lady hairPlus yours the look gold God, the old tainted bald techniqueGot these vestibules designer niggaz in they whipsjumpin out they seats, eighteen, Bronzeman Part IIWe like Dorothy Hamill on iceWe in your hood we might circle, hats down low in the RangeSwitch lanes, change my tire, peel outReal loud on the stage yo, I shitted on your hood kidI shitted on your hood, got to your burner too lateI'm lookin real good, draped outShinin like a fresh fifty cent piece, your girlfriend, c'mereOh shit, you my man's niece, the gourmet pocket twentybombs made of clay, Sexcapades take placeWe fucked in forty-eight shades might walk up in your studiotime slap your engineer, it's lighter fluid to that styleHand me the matches now

Verse Two: Raekwon the Chef

Aiyyo rainbow Roley on the wrist, now what's thisNiggaz bless this, eight and a half, Bally banana twistE shakes, puffin on lye, feedin the seed's platePullin out, old dirty eights to rob gatesMajor wake up, the kid telltales, make a nigga head wake upBeats break, the nigga would take off his timeHonolulu status, gladdestthe rich rock cabbage and dollar vans grandsThat nigga mad savage, stationary Hall of JusticeNiggaz came clumped outJust came home, now they bunked outMoney be longer than triple lifetil the sun burn out, that's my wordMove it with the burner outFidel way of thinkin, roll with the Mac bent Ac-10Most of my team, Five Percent check what the live saidRollin with Guess vests pedestrians yoholdin my nuts, fuckin thousand dollar lesbians

[Ghost] Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock this[both] Maintain Three-Sixty Lord live prosperous[Ghost] It only takes a lesson a day, just to analyze life[both] one time in the respectable mind(repeat 2X)

Verse Three: The Genius/GZA

Let the shot spark, soon as his pit bull barksTire scars from skid marks leaves from jams in school parksWitness, forget his, original statementEven in protection programs there's no escapementGunned down, we in town, hit king from seven crownsSpent rounds catch him while he rhyme in the Zebra LoungeWounded, back in the eighty-three summer heatUp in three-oh-nine park, rhymin off the drummer's beatI stalk the city streets demonstratin mic wrecksAll lookin stank, I ain't playin wit a full deckAnd as they nervously stare, I know they scaredThey saw the coming of Wu, the neon in Times SquareHousehold name, assassin, killa beeMill to the grain, that posess the Wu, trilogyQuick to spot those that bite camoflouge and blendThose that got styles, they got identical twinsDon't stretch the small thing, copycats are finnickywithout skills, they master the art of mimicryBut I go line for line on the whole pageYour unspotted life on the mic is old age